Call in the Tradesman
by The Agent X
Summary: An attempt by me to explain several inconsistencies, plot holes, head-scratchers or just unanswered questions that are seen in the show. This week: The past is gone but not forgotten. How do Kwami experience the mask?
1. Identities

Call in the Tradesman

by

Agent X

The mysterious supporter of pairs!

A/N: This week we explore why Marinette hasn't told (read: can't tell) her best friend and/or partner who she really is. As she said, it's just safer this way. But why?

* * *

Alya sat down with a heavy sigh. Marinette glanced at her. Surprised enough that she had gotten to class first today, she found herself only more shocked upon seeing the dark circles sitting under her best friend's eyes.

"What's wrong?" She asked, alarmed.

"Nothing." Alya said through a yawn. "Just up late compiling info for the Ladyblog."

"Oh." Marinette didn't know what to say to that. She never knew how to deal with her friend's dangerous obsession with unmasking Ladybug. But it didn't matter if Marinette stumbled, Alya took her mumbled nothing as invitation enough to continue.

"It just makes me so _frustrated._ " She exclaimed. "I've spent so many hours and put so much research into this and I still have no idea who Ladybug could be! Whenever I feel like I'm getting close, it's like the answer just slips away. Like I've forgotten something important, or I lose my train of thought. I think I'm losing my mind!" She finished, dropping her head to the desk with a groan.

Marinette patted her friend on the back consolingly, glad that with her face buried in her arms like that Alya wasn't able to see the guilt in her expression. "I'm sure that's not it. You just need to look at things from a fresh perspective."

"Yeah." Alya replied, voice muffled by the desk. "Yeah… maybe."

* * *

"I want to tell her Tikki."

Marinette sat at the desk in her room, mirroring the defeated posture of her friend. Tikki fluttered around her head looking down on the miserable girl with pity.

"You know we can't do that, Marinette."

Marinette moved her head enough for one baleful eye to escape it's cage. "She won't tell anyone." She tried half-heartedly. "She's my best friend."

"Oh, Marinette." Tikki landed on her forearm with a sigh. "You know that's not it."

She didn't reply.

"No one can know who you are. As Ladybug, you are protected from akuma but your friends are not. If someone who knew your secret were akumatised, then everyone and everything you care about would be in danger. Papillon can see into the minds of his puppets. He would know all about you."

Her head came up. "Maybe we could be careful! We could -"

Tikki touched her tiny paw to her friend, lending what comfort she could. "You can't watch Alya every minute of every day. Not as Marinette, and not as Ladybug. I'm sorry, but this is one burden that you have to bear."

"I know." Marinette sighed. She rubbed at her forehead. "I know you're right. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Came the tiny voice. Then, slightly chipper, "And at least you don't have to do this alone."

"That's true." Marinette said with a crooked smile. "I have you. And Chat Noir too, I guess. I can't tell him - he gets turned too often to risk it - but at least I know he must feel the same. There must be someone that he wants to tell."

"I'm sure there is." Tikki agreed with a smile. "And one day you'll both get that chance."

* * *

A/N: I mean, let's imagine that Chat Noir did see Ladybug change at the end of Lady Wifi. When he gets hit by that arrow from Dark Cupid, knowing that Marinette is under the mask and she doesn't want to be exposed, I can just see the antilove Chat maliciously yelling her name a few times within the hearing of Papillon's minions. Chat, we love you and the fact that you throw yourself into harm's way for Ladybug, but bae b right. Unfortunately, it means that it is safer for you both to not know.

Thank you. Any comment or criticism is welcome.


	2. Praise

Call in the Tradesman

by

Agent X

The unprepared.

A/N: This week we look at the disparity between Ladybug and Chat Noir's popularity. Where does it come from? How do they feel about it?

* * *

"Ladybug! Ladybug!"

The throng of reporters pressed in closer and Chat found himself unceremoniously squeezed out of the pride-of-place spot next to his lady. He spent a moment or two trying to pry his way back to her side, but after a few attempts he gave it up as futile and retreated away from the crowd

He found a solitary statue not too far away and with a quick hop up onto its base he was able to see her through the press. Ladybug was smiling broadly, offering a comment here and there, one hand nervously tugging on her earlobe. It was a habit of hers and Chat smiled as he caught it. Watching the throng from the outside was always a very different experience to seeing it up close. Both were ones he was familiar with. As Chat Noir he had his fair share of fans and followers, but it was obvious to anyone who was the most beloved of the two heroes. Ladybug was admired, adored, celebrated. She was the one who could purify evil. She was the one who restored order. She _was_ the miracle.

And honestly, Chat didn't blame them. He'd be the first to extoll the virtues of his Lady. If anything, he should be right there with them, calling her name. As it stood, he didn't have to do that because he was the only one who got to see how amazing she was up close. When they fought an akuma, he saw her strength, her determination and ingenuity. When they raced across the city, he admired her grace, confidence and daring. And when they were together, chatting on patrol or joking after an akuma fight, he got to see what no one else shared: her humour, her pride, her intelligence, her stubbornness, her warm heart, her cool mind. It would be impossible to name all the innumerable things Chat cherished about her in those moments.

He might occasionally be jealous of those who sought her attention but he had never been envious of his Lady or her fame. He'd already had more than he could stand of spotlights and adulation in his capacity as one of the most famous teen celebrities in Paris. To him, being Chat Noir was about freedom from his daily life. He had no problems with leaving the praise and public relations at her feet.

Eventually, Ladybug broke away from the throng, making her excuses for a timed retreat. If she happened to stop and look around before swinging away, Chat Noir tried not to imagine who she might be looking for.

* * *

It wasn't until later that night that he got to talk to her again.

There was the sound of a footfall on the roof behind him. Chat didn't have to turn around to know who would be there, but he did it anyway. He wanted to see her. Ladybug's yoyo zipped back to her with a soft _snikt_.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, tilting her head, blue eyes focused on him.

"Of course it is," he answered cheekily. "You're here, after all."

With a roll of her eyes that spoke of fond exasperation, Ladybug moved up next to him.

"You disappeared so fast today," she chastised. "I was worried."

"Nothing to worry about, My Lady. I just thought it best to leave you to your adoring fans."

Her brow wrinkled together. "I'm sorry about them," she said sincerely, "I wish they'd treat you the same. You're just as much of a hero as I am. You deserve better."

"It's fine," he waved off her apology.

She frowned but said nothing as she turned to face the tower lighting up the night sky. They stood in silence. Just when he'd started to wonder if he should've said something further, she spoke again.

"Thank you, Chat," she told him, "You did really well today."

He blinked at the unexpected compliment. A light, bubbling warmth rose up through his chest and tingled across his back and shoulders. It slid up his neck and cheeks and fizzed on the tip of his nose like a sneeze. Chat had the strange idea that if he were to move right now, he would spring up, float up, away into the night air. Even had he tried, he couldn't have hidden the stupid, toothy grin that spread across his face.

"Thank you, Ladybug," he answered her, "That's the only praise I need."

* * *

A/N: So it's not addressed in the show but it's very clear to everyone watching that the people of Paris do not treat Chat and Ladybug the same, and a lot of fans don't like it because they think Chat would be upset by this. I'm on the opposite side of the spectrum. I really appreciate that the show went there with it's female superhero (why can't a female superhero be more popular?) and, moreover, I think Chat would be on the same wavelength. Not just because he is probably the biggest Ladybug fan alive and would have no qualms with people recognising how awesome his Ladybug is, but also because he is a well-known and easily recognised celebrity in his _daily_ life. And as 'Chat Noir' is an escape for him, I see no reason why that wouldn't extend to escaping mindless and adoring fans, flashing lights, and people who only like you for what they think they know about you.

So I think that rather than being bitter, or even slightly upset, he would actually be very gracious and understanding. And really, there is only one person's opinion that he cares about.


	3. Masks

Call in the Tradesman

by

Agent X

The resolute!

A/N: Why are people able to recognise akuma that are wildly different from their usual selves at a glance, but no one can piece together the deal with our relatively unchanged black-haired blue-eyed heroine and her blond companion?

* * *

"Spots on!"

With a flash the magic took hold. Ladybug felt the usual tightening on her arms and legs as her suit settled. As soon as the last spark was gone she was racing back towards the corner she'd just ducked around.

 _Okay, it can't have gotten far. Once I get past the_ -

"Mari- _oomph_!"

" _Ack!_ "

The girls went down in a tangle of limbs. Ladybug shifted away from the knee now resting uncomfortably in her stomach and tried to get herself back under control. Tentatively, she looked up and found the inquiring gaze of Alya Césaire.

"Ladybug?"

 _Oh crap._ Ladybug felt a cold sheet of panic wash over her. _She must've seen me come over here. She couldn't have-_

"Ah, hello." She tried awkwardly, pushing herself to stand. _Act casual_. "Sorry about that. Did you need anything, or…?"

Ladybug had to remind herself to keep breathing as her best friend peered intensely around the empty courtyard, a frown slowly deepening on her face.

"I… I thought…" She looked confused, lost. When Alya's gaze fixed back on Ladybug, it possessed a familiar haziness that made the heroine both breathe in relief and draw back in guilt.

"Well then, I'm sorry to shoot off but I really must be going." She tried with a tight smile. Before she'd even finished speaking Alya was reaching for her phone.

"Ladybug, wait! What do you know about this new akuma? Any ideas on who it could-"

"Sorry, gotta fly!"

"Ladybug!" But the heroine was already swinging away. She looked back at her friend, phone up, eyes bright, standing all alone in the courtyard. Another shard of guilt dug it's way into her heart. She knew from experience that Alya would feel terrible later: for forgetting about searching for Marinette; for getting caught up in the moment; for not being able to remember Ladybug clearly even when she'd been standing _right in front of her_. She would blame herself, having no idea that it wasn't her fault.

Ladybug hated seeing that cloudiness cover the faces of the people who looked at her, but she relied on it too. It was what protected her in situations like this one, where the circumstances had all but screamed her identity.

 _Remember._ Tikki had warned. _It's not just the mask that protects you. The magic will hide you even from the people who know you best. It will redirect them, distract them so they won't see_ ** _you,_** _they'll just_ _see Ladybug. Even your parents won't recognise you by appearance or voice alone. However, it only works so far. If you tell anyone who you are, it will fail. If you say something that only you could say or know, it will fail. And_ ** _if anyone ever sees you transform_** _, it will fail. So be careful, Marinette._

Ladybug sighed. _That was a close one_.

She stomped down hard on the part of her that whispered. _If only it'd been just a bit closer_.

* * *

A/N: So, I know that the creator of the show literally said that there is no magic at work and it is just a simple case of Clark Kenting. But, to be honest, I find that really frustrating and even a bit lazy. It would be _so easy_ to say "magic did it" - we know magic exists, we know our heroes use it. It wouldn't be a stretch to assume that it helps guard their identities somewhat. But instead we get this massive logical inconsistency between the recognition of the akumatised villains and our heroes. You'd think they'd at least make it so people didn't recognise the akuma, if only to keep things consistent. I gotta say this is one thing that disappoints me, mostly because a solution is _right there_ , but somehow someone decided that "oh, it's just a kids show" was excuse enough.


	4. Technology

Call in the Tradesman

by

Agent X

The bombastic.

A/N: Every time I see that green telephone icon pop up on their miraculous weapons, I can't help but wonder how much of it is magic and how much is technology. My answer: magic in the guise of technology. May as well work with what they already know, right Tikki? Plagg? ... right?

I also like how it would be a reversal of the usual 'technology in the guise of magic' trope.

* * *

Her back hit the wall just a second before her head. Spots flashed before her eyes. All she was aware of was her hissed breath and stone scraping against her arms as she crumpled to the ground. She wasn't sure how long it took for her to blink the spots away, her vision warping, dancing like haze above the desert sand. Minutes, seconds; it was all too long.

He was out there. He was fighting alone. And she was too far. When the demon struck, she'd been hit with enough force to send her halfway across the city. Out here, the low brick huts provided too little purchase for her bandalore to cling to. She wouldn't be fast enough. She wouldn't be _there_.

As soon as she thought she could stand without vomiting, Ruby Scarab sprang up. Disoriented, desperate, she picked a direction without thinking, racing as fast as her aching legs would carry her. Down on the street, she danced around a slave hauling buckets; jumped over a crowd of children playing in the dirt. She ignored the stares and the whispers of the people. People who were seeing her - the Incarnation of Order, the Chosen of Atum-Ra - so close for the first time. With a hop onto a low well, it was just another jump upward and then she was above it all again, racing along the mud-brick rooftops. The Egyptian sun beat down; she felt its heat as the unforgiving gaze of the gods.

The bandalore, her only link to them, was gripped tightly in her palm. She brought it to her face. "Bastet, show me your servant!"

As always, the clouded mirror within her sacred instrument revealed itself to her. Scarab ran on, waiting impatiently for the image to clear. For the voice of the Black Cat to ring out: for his arrogance, his inappropriateness, his normally insufferable self - _anything-_ to dispel her panic, but no answer came.

With a growl that was half fear, half frustration, she brought herself to a stop. She couldn't keep running aimlessly. Eyes narrowed, chest heaving, she moved the shining disc closer. "Mut, Eye of Ra." She intoned through her gasps. "Grant me your divine sight!"

This time the image in the mirror whirled dizzyingly, like a bird rising. Even after so long, Scarab still had to fight back the unfurling awe that came upon her as the magic rushed to obey. When the view in the mirror solidified, she looked down upon her city from the heavens. The whole of Iunu was focused within her hand. And there, towards the southwest edge, there shone the glyph. A cat's paw; it was the emerald signet of the Black Cat: her reckless guard, her devoted ally, and her contentious rival. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, and glanced up from her palm in the direction it had manifested.

Just as she went to place the bandalore away, a deafening clap - like jaws snapping, like a whip striking - shook through the air. The whole city shuddered beneath her. Scarab steadied herself. A huge plume of dust and smoke erupted from the landscape ahead of her. And in it's wake a brittle silence fell.

The sun was still glaring, scorching against the sand but her hands and feet felt chill as she slowly, slowly brought the still active mirror up once more.

For just a second, she saw it. The cat's paw.

And then it was gone.

* * *

A/N: I will admit that this chapter is very minimally researched. In the episode, they refer to the Egyptian Ladybug as a 'Goddess', and while I'm certain that people saw her that way, she considers herself as more of an avatar of the gods. Same as Black Cat. He is Bastet's chosen (warrior, protector, terrible destructive power, cat form) and she serves Atum-Ra (creation, renewal, first of the gods, beetle form). I choose Mut for the Eye of Ra because she also governs the heavens.

Cat is one of the many sons of the current Pharaoh and thus is often arrogant, reckless, rude and oblivious to much of the reality of his city. This starts to change when he receives his ring and meets Ruby Scarab. Scarab is a quiet but serious girl and a scribe in service to Seshat. She was taken in by the temple at a young age and has lived and served there ever since. She and Black Cat often bicker due to their very different backgrounds and their attitudes to being chosen. He is frustrated because he feels this favour proves he is the one that should rightfully inherit the throne, but he can't tell anyone about it. She views their service as a condemnation of the current political and religious rulers and a sign of the gods' displeasure with spreading corruption, disease and maleficence.

Side-side note: I spent far too much time debating between 'Ruby Scarab' and 'Spotted Beetle'. I still might change it.


	5. Fear

Call in the Tradesman

by

Agent X

The uncultured

A/N: So this is a bit different from my other pieces in that it was not raised by a question in the show. It was just me sitting, contemplating about what our heroes fears might be. This is the result of that contemplation.

* * *

Marinette's dream is black.

There is no light, no space, no breath. She is trapped. Surrounded by an amorphous darkness as solid as it is obscure. She doesn't know up or down. Doesn't know where she is or where she can go, but her hands press against the confines of her cage, seeking, scrabbling for the edges. The fear rises up through her like sweat through sickness.

The walls are warm, firm, slick. They are bowed. There is a beat, a pulse to all the parts she touches. She doesn't understand it until she pushes her palm flat against the mass. It's expanding, moving, _growing_. Creeping in until it starts to brush at the top of her head and tap at the base of her spine.

She panics. She pushes, she bangs, kicks out, but there is no stopping the encroaching blackness. It grows and her space shrinks. All she can do is struggle. Struggle and push until she can't move. Contorted, listening to her rapid breath. She feels the heated pressure on her limbs. A swollen press that's crushing her. Bury her, smother her until there's nothing left of Marinette. Just the all-consuming black.

Marinette wakes up and drags in a long, shuddering breath. Eyes wide and seeing only darkness, she feels the fear still clawing at her, but a small paw rests against her clammy skin, breaking the illusion.

"Marinette, what's wrong?" The voice is like a charm.

"Nothing, Tikki," she breathes, glad the kwami can't hear the pounding of her heart. She settles down, feeling the grip loosening, dissipating with each inhale. "Just a bad dream."

* * *

Adrien's dream is white.

It doesn't start that way. At first there are walls, a roof, a room. He finds himself in the faded familiar of the wide house in which he grew up. Then, between one moment and the next, the house crumbles. The roof drops, the wide walls tumble. The world expands, becoming wider and wider, impossibly wide. An endless white space. Endless and unchanging, it stretches away into the ever. There is only Adrien and the white.

He should move. He must move. He has to move, but he's afraid. He can't tell the ground from the sky in this blinding white. He doesn't know where his next step will be.

He could stand forever in this place. Waiting, waiting. Never a speck of colour against the light, echoing and empty. It is fear of this that spurs him forward, to escape, to gamble and try to leave the nothingness behind. He takes large, tottering steps that don't know the distance between safe and sky. Open space and solid ground is all the same. He runs.

Is he moving? Is he staying? There is only the sensation of pressure against his soles, nothing around him changes. He feels tired. He feels tears. He wants so desperately to see difference that he looks up, looks for the source of light in this strange white world.

But as he looks his feet leave the floor, and he falls. Falls up into oblivion. He tries to claw at the air. Tries to get back to where he was. But there is no way back. He is the only one. Not tied to anything. Only Adrien and the white.

Adrien wakes up slowly, throat tight with bottled dread. He swipes at the tears on his cheek.

"Stop fidgeting. I'm trying to sleep," Plagg grumbles.

A shaky smile breaks over him as Adrien lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He manages to compose himself before apologising. He turns over, away, listening to the soft snores of his companion, feeling the flick of a tiny tail against his back. Adrien listens, and smiles, and breathes.

* * *

A/N: Not really sure if I should go into my reasoning for this, as I'm curious to know what peoples own interpretations are. But I will say that the starting point for Marinette was claustrophobia and the starting point for Adrien was agoraphobia.


	6. Vision

Call in the Tradesman

by

Agent X

The mysterious supporter of pairs!

A/N: The Kwami, the suit, the mask - how do they all tie together? What happens to the consciousness of Ladybug's and Chat Noir's guardians when they are transformed?

* * *

She could see it all. The image was clear before her, as if in slow motion.

The lion staggered, large paw scraping up the earth and dust.

 _No. Oh no._

What should be black was growing red and red, a waterfall onto the parched ground. The skin, the suit, split around the spear.

 _Plagg, no._

The lion toppled, and she rushed to meet it. Red hands reached out to brush the fur. She felt how soft it was. Heavy tears upon the mask. She could feel them trickle as they fell.

Strong arms cradled the giant's head as the light slowly faded from his eyes. She did not want to see this. She did not want see the pain, the regret. She did not want to watch as the magic was slowly undone. She did not want to remember.

But she had no choice. She could not turn her gaze away.

The lion disappeared and only man was left.

They grieved.

They grieved for the man. They grieved for their partner, though they were not one and the same. She wanted to reach out to her friend; trapped, retreated within his stone confines. But she couldn't. She had no control. They were only servants.

So she waited. And she watched. Eventually, a warm hand palmed the pale ring. The ring stained by sand and blood and lives and years.

The feet she could not move shuffled. The body she did not own stood up. The heart she did not have was broken.

The girl would carry her sorrow with her for life. The gods would carry their sorrow with them forever.

And one day - when the guardians could meet again - they would share it.

* * *

"Tikki, are you okay?" Marinette asked sleepily. It was dark. Too dark to see anything, but she had been awakened by something like a whimper. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Don't worry, Marinette." Came Tikki's voice, as calm and sweet as always. "Kwami don't dream."

A small hand brushed at her head. "Go back to sleep."

The darkness returned her to slumber. Tikki sighed.

 _Kwami don't dream_.

 _They remember_.

* * *

A/N: So this is something I've been thinking about for a while. Namely, how do the kwami experience transformation? As far as we know, they have no consciousness, no sensation when they create the suit. On the other hand, we know from some of Plagg's comments that they are aware of what happens while transformed.

Some have speculated that they are the suit. I hold to this theory, but I feel it's slightly more than that. They can feel whatever touches them and they can see whatever their wearer sees. But they have no control. They can't dispel, they can't evade, they can't advise and they can't turn away.

They can only silently observe. I think that's the cost of having as much power as they do. They hold it, but they can't use it at all.


End file.
